


The Fucking Douche

by kjt



Series: Zwei [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjt/pseuds/kjt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The situations Erin leaves me in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fucking Douche

**Author's Note:**

> Read after chapter seven of Duality.
> 
> This is not a happy extra. It's been written to show more of what Eren has to go through and the kind of person his split personality is. This doesn't have to be read to understand the gist of Duality.
> 
> Warnings for: attempted rape  
> violence
> 
> If those things bother you, please DO NOT read.

I’m awoken at some dark hour of the morning and guessing by how shitty I feel, Erin had been drinking. It takes two seconds for me to notice that someone is blowing me. I've never received a blow job before and, to be honest, it feels great. I just pray I’m getting it from a girl. I let it go and relax. Ignoring my better judgement. It doesn’t last long. About thirty seconds when whoever is between my legs stops because I've come. Are you supposed to let a person know before you do that? I'm not familiar with blow job etiquette. They don't seem to mind so it must be ok. When they climb out from under the blanket and up my body i see that my prayers weren't answered. I instantly recognize the guy to be one of the school's quarterbacks. Once I realize that yeah, he isn’t a girl, I ask him to stop and of course he doesn’t.

“Awe c’mon now, don't be like that, baby. You had your turn, now it's mine.”

He dips down in an attempt to kiss me. I turn away in time for his lips to meet my cheek instead. The guy is fucking slobbering all over my cheek. Moving down to do the same on my neck and then back up to my mouth. I guess saying stop and turning away constantly isn't enough of a hint. He reeks of alcohol and I keep my teeth clenched tight in between my pleas. I struggle in his hold. Fighting to get him off me.

He punches me in the face to get me to stop thrashing. It works. I feel him rubbing his dick against my ass. Sliding between my cheeks and pushing at my asshole. My “please don't” comes out as a whine. It’s tearful and it sounds pathetic. He obviously doesn't care that he's a rapist piece of shit. I muster up enough strength to land a hit in the right spot and he falls over off of me. I scramble off the bed and onto the floor. I am so fucking disoriented from the alcohol. Not to mention the fist to the face I received previously. I want to yell for help but don't. Partially due to fear. What if someone shows up to help him? Mostly due to embarrassment though. I just want to get out of here. Hopefully unnoticed. If I'm lucky I’ll get a hold of someone to pick me up. If I can figure out where I am anyway. 

I make it to the door when I realize I'm half naked. That and Erin's purse is probably in here somewhere. Fuuuuck. Having my dick covered is desirable so is having a cell phone at the moment. I just want out of here. Find a light switch. Blind myself for a moment. Vision comes back and guess who's not writhing in pain anymore.

“Look man, just let me get my pants-” nope. There’s a skirt crumpled on the floor next to him for me to wear. Of fucking course. “Er, skirt and leave.”

He picks it up and throws it at me. I don't take my eyes off of him while i slip it up to my waist fast. I don’t like the smile he’s sporting...or the hard-on.

“Sure thing. Right after I fuck you with it on.”

“Please, I just want to go home.”

“You're so fucking hot when you beg.”

“Look, I won't report you for assault if you let me get that purse and go.” And fuck he's getting up.

“Come and get it.”

There's that shitty smile again. I watch him as I walk cautiously toward the end table the bag is on. He doesn't wait and launches across the bed to get at me. I snatch up the bag and turn as quick as I can to dart out of there. He gets a grip on my wrist and yanks me back onto the bed. He pulls so hard I drop the bag and it's contents scatter onto the floor. I don’t know how I end up on top of him. All I see is blood as I scream out of pure rage and desperation. The feeling of my fists repeatedly smashing into his face. Then I’m being yanked backwards. I clamber to the floor and I’m left alone long enough to collect Erin’s crap and get out of this shithole of an apartment.

I pull up the GPS on Erin’s phone to find that I’m in what has to be the worst part of Minneapolis. Even better, it’s a two hour walk home. That or twenty minutes if I catch a bus. Seeing as I can't get a hold of anyone I'm left with the choice of embarrassment or another potential assault. Lucky for me Erin stole more of my money (never thought I’d say that.) and has at least enough buried in her purse for me to start my humiliating trek by bus. Let's hope I'll be the only one on it. Public transport is the safest route. Well, safer after I get on one. 

I make my way to the nearest stop in the dark. Save for the sporadic streetlamps that barely flicker to life as I walk under them. Sitting in the bus stop shelter I’m harassed by a shady ass guy trying to sell me drugs. He’s not who worries me. It’s the dirty looking scumbag attempting to scoot closer to me on the bench who is. I tug my skirt down and tuck it between my thighs. Ensuring my dick isn’t showing. This is how a lot of my summer has been going. Waking up next to some random douchebag with no clue as to where I am. This time is a whole new low with the wonderful walk of shame I get to endure. Barefoot, no underwear and I’m sure copious amounts of black eyeliner streaked down my cheeks. At least it’s warm out tonight. 

The bus driver takes pity on me and lets me travel further than my money allows. I get off on the last stop of her route, which thankfully, is ten minutes from my house in St. Paul. After I cut through some backyards and a patch of woods I’m finally home. I want to shower the filth off but I’m so exhausted that I give up after I get these scraps of cloth off. (Can this shit even be considered as clothing?) I feel tears pricking at my eyes and fall to my knees as I let a single sob escape me. Don't let it take me over. Can't. Hold it together as I curl up on the floor of my bathroom. The fluffy bath rug never felt so good.


End file.
